Fernando Sanchez Morales stepped out onto the patio to find his wife and seven-year-old son in the yard. His wife sat at the table, paging through a magazine, while his son kicked a soccer ball across the grass.
His first impulse was to shout at them, tell them to hurry inside. Blood started pounding in his ears. He wasn’t aware his hands had curled into fists until he felt his nails digging into his palms.
Two of the bodyguards stood close by, sunglasses propped on their faces, rifles strapped over their shoulders. They kept their attention on the fence and the trees beyond it.
His wife glanced up at him and smiled.
“Do you hear them?”
He paused, the blood still pounding in his ears.
“Hear what?”
“Church bells.”
She nodded toward the fence and the trees and the town down the hill. It took him a moment but then he heard them past the blood singing in his ears. Distant church bells.
His wife smiled again.
“There must be a wedding. Which reminds me, our anniversary is next month. What will you get me?”
Out in the yard, his son kicked the soccer ball a bit too hard. It sailed through the air and struck the fence. His son started running after the ball, but Fernando called after him.
“Ignacio, come here!”
The boy paused at the intensity in his father’s voice.
His wife noticed it too, and the smile faded from her face.
“Why are you yelling at him?”
Fernando redirected his glare at his wife.
“Don’t question me. And besides, you know better than to come outside.”
His wife sighed, gesturing at the bodyguards.
“They’re watching after us.”
“That doesn’t matter. You need to listen to me. It’s for your safety.”
She tilted the sunglasses to stare at him over the tops of the frames.
“You worry too much.”
“This isn’t a joke, Araceli. We’ve had this discussion already. You both need to stay in the house until I tell you it’s okay to go out again.”
She issued an overdramatic sigh, turning back to her magazine.
“It’s a beautiful day. Let your son play with his ball.”
He was moving before he even realized it. Crossing the short distance between them within a second. Snatching the magazine from his wife’s hands and flinging it away while he grabbed a clump of her hair and yanked her to her feet.
Araceli cried out, gripping his wrist.
“Let go of me!”
He leaned down so his nose was almost touching hers. He growled between clenched teeth.
“Never disrespect me in front of my men. Do you understand me?”
From the yard, Ignacio called, “Mama?”
Araceli struggled for only a few more seconds before she settled. She knew the drill. This wasn’t the first time Fernando became physical to make a point with his wife.
She glared up at him over the tops of the sunglasses.
“You’ve kept us locked up for over a year.”
“Yes, for your goddamned protection. I would think you would be more grateful.”
“We’re prisoners in our own home.”
“But you’re still alive. Or would you rather the Devil get you?”
She said nothing to this. Fernando hadn’t expected her to. He’d shown her the pictures early on when she said she didn’t believe him. He made her keep the pictures on her phone as a constant reminder.
Ignacio hurried over to the patio, the soccer ball forgotten. He ran straight to his mother and wrapped his arms around her waist and glared up at Fernando.
“Stop hurting her!”
This was his son, his own flesh and blood, speaking to him like a stranger. It made the blood start pounding in his ears again, his body going tense, but no, he wasn’t going to hurt his son, at least not right now. Too much had happened in the past twenty-four hours that needed his attention that he couldn’t get distracted by this.
He let go of his wife’s hair and stepped back.
“Go inside and don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.”
Ignacio was sobbing now, gripping his mother like he thought she was going to disappear.
Araceli picked him up and kissed his cheeks, told him that everything was okay. She didn’t look at Fernando as she hurried back inside the house.
The bodyguards started to follow them.
Fernando said, “Stop.”
The men stopped.
“What did I tell you about them being outside?”
Neither man said anything.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
One of the men swallowed, cleared his throat.
“Sir, she asked us if they could—”
“Shut the fuck up. You should know better. She’s not in charge. I am. Do you understand me?”
Both men nodded.
“I said, do you fucking understand me?”
The men said that they did.
Fernando dismissed them and the men hurried into the house.
A moment passed, and Jose Luis Guillen, Fernando’s right-hand man, stepped outside. Fernando knew the man was there—he always knew when he was nearby—but he didn’t turn away from staring off the hill toward town.
“What did you find out?”
Jose Luis cleared his throat before he spoke.
“Our people in the police confirmed the woman and children were burned. PFM agents arrived to the scene less than an hour ago.”
Fernando turned to look at his right-hand man.
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Two investigators followed up on a lead that took them into the city. Apparently a pay phone had been used sometime this morning to call a motel there.”
This made Fernando frown.
“Are they sure it’s him?”
Meaning the Devil.
Jose Luis said, “Right now all signs point that way, yes.”
“But the Diaz compound. No single man could have killed all of those men.”
“He’s made attacks before.”
“Yes, on bodyguards. On convoys. But nothing to this extent. Besides, it doesn’t even make sense why the Devil would target them. Ernesto Diaz and his son weren’t even at the meeting.”
“That had occurred to me as well. But there is, um, something else.”
Fernando noticed the pause and frowned at Jose Luis.
“Spit it out.”
“Apparently a drone was found just inside the entrance to the compound.”
“A drone.”
“Yes, a small one. Part of it was destroyed from the blast, but it’s still clearly a drone.”
Fernando tried to picture it and frowned again.
“What kind of drone are we talking about?”
“Like I said, a small one. One of our people in the police thinks maybe it was being used for surveillance.”
This stopped Fernando cold. He stared at his right-hand man for a long moment and shook his head.
“This doesn’t feel like it was the Devil’s work.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that we lost, what, a dozen of our men? Ernesto wanted to pay for the extra protection, and I was happy to oblige him because he and my father were good friends. But fuck, now we’re down a dozen men.”
Fernando went quiet for another long moment, and then shook his head again.
“No, I don’t buy that the Devil was responsible for this.”
“But the bodies—”
“Yes, I know the bodies were burned. I can’t explain that. Maybe the Devil was responsible for that. Maybe he’s branching out. As for the attack on the Diaz compound, as for the dozen men we lost, I feel that we need to make some kind of statement.”
Jose Luis looked at him curiously. He had been working for Fernando long enough to know in which direction his boss was headed, but he needed to hear the words first before acting.
“What statement?”
“That this family is not to be fucked with. That we are not to be intimidated. That when someone comes at us, we stand our ground. That we—”
Fernando cut himself off, shaking his head.
“No, it’s much simpler than that.”
Jose Luis asked, “What is?”
Fernando turned away again and stared down at the town off the hill. La Miserias, a small town of only a few hundred people. The small town with the church in the center, and its bells finally having gone silent from ringing. A wedding, Araceli had said.
Jose Luis cleared his throat.
“Sir?”
Fernando turned back. He felt the nails digging into his palms again and released his fists.
“Get some men together. It’s time to make a statement.”